


Living Alone, So to Speak (Halloween Variation 01)

by Lucifer_Rosemaunt



Series: Halloween series 2014 (meet cutes) [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Character Death, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Rosemaunt/pseuds/Lucifer_Rosemaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short ficlet variations on a theme: Halloween meet cute. Erik purchases a haunted loft. (Turned out more angsty than expected.) Modern!AU. Established char death. Erik/Raoul preslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

o.o.o.o

Erik does not notice it at first.

It takes several weeks after moving in and after emptying all those cardboard boxes before he even begins to wonder what is happening. He thinks he has simply misplaced his shirts, his keys, several glasses of water, his plates, and everything else under the sun that normal people simply put down and forget until they need it later. When it comes to his tools though, his trade: paintbrushes, portfolios, sheets of music he has spent all evening working on, all of these important facets of his life ending up in places he would never even think to leave it that Erik becomes certain that the someone or some _thing_ he had been warned about before purchasing this loft is more relevant and dangerous than he has given it credit for being.

He bemoans his fate because this loft is perfect in terms of price, location and space. His neighbors are relatively quiet and more importantly, they leave him alone. He is generally not a superstitious man though he has connections to people who undeniably make their living off of those who are. He considers all those who have abandoned this loft before him in fear of some spectre to be fools – though their foolishness is his gain – not because of what they believe, but because they chose to leave. All in all, he is unwilling to accept that option; however, that leaves him with little else more than trying to figure out what to do now.

If he is not leaving, then something like an exorcism is in order because even he cannot deny that supernatural events have been occurring. A priest might help, but he does not know any priests. He does know a woman from the old country able to communicate with ghosts and, more importantly, able to exorcise and repel them. Madame Giry is busiest this time of year, October being a sufficiently superstition-heavy month, but he calls in several favours to get her to do a house call. Ghosts know better than cross her path; she knows how to send them to their final resting place, whichever direction that may be. So, he hopes that her very presence will fix his haunting problem before it gets out of hand.

When the stern woman enters his loft and claims that no ghosts are present at the moment, he insists that she offer some sort of protection.

Her accent is thick when she answers, “Their hold on this place is much too strong. A full exorcism will be needed.” She adds at his expectant look, “At a later time.”

Erik cannot help but think it sounds like a line to get more money; however, as she walks through his apartment, her face changes almost imperceptibly and her hand hovers over the very objects that have gone missing or been moved, and he believes her.

Still, he insists, “I need something.” He eventually admits that losing his belongings might be the least of his problems because he has begun to hear footsteps, nails scratching down walls, and whispers. So far, he has done his best to ignore it all, feeling that a reaction is all that is needed for further escalation but he can only do so much.

The disapproving look she has upon hearing the true extent of the haunting makes him shrug in response. Still, she must see something in his face, which he doubts, or she knows something of the ghost that haunts his loft, which is slightly worrying, but eventually, she agrees, giving him a handful of incense sticks to burn, a poultice to rub on his own throat and temples, and a note he is not to read until the time is right. There are more instructions involved but he is busy opening the jar and reeling back from the awful smell that wafts out and by the time he seals it shut again, she has finished speaking. He is wholly unwilling to admit that he has not been listening. Luckily, when she leaves, she reminds him only to use the ingredients tomorrow after the evening bell.

He nods dutifully, shutting the door behind her.

Morning breaks.

His sleep has been disturbed by what felt like a weight upon his chest.

And his mask is missing.

It is to be war between this ghost and him.

His apartment is in shambles in no time at all, partly from the search but mostly from the irrepressible need to break things in frustration and anger. He glances at the incense and poultice jar at intervals during the entire process, hoping that cleansing his loft will be a very painful process for the ghost that has decided to cross him and wondering if there are ways to make it hurt excruciating.

The loss of his mask is technically not a hindrance to his plans for the day. He has no intention of leaving his home on most days, and today in particular only serves to grate on his nerves when others find his ‘costume’ to be lackluster. He refuses to explain the necessity of his mask to strangers, and only sheer force of will holds back any biting remarks and violent actions that is warranted by such rudeness. Usually, his jaw aches by the end of the day and there is no saving his mood. No, it is best to remain inside on Halloween and work.

However, he finds he cannot even find solace in the creative process since the absence of his mask serves as too big a distraction. His eyes are drawn back to Giry’s gifts and before he can reconsider, he lights half of the incense sticks, shoving them with more force than necessary into the black sand of the celadon porcelain incense bowl. The hour has barely hit ten o’clock in the morning when he opens the squat mason jar, bracing himself for the stench and steeling himself for the act of dipping his fingers into the concoction. He hesitates for the briefest of moments. Evening has yet to fall, but there is no way he can wait the seven hours to find out where his mask has gone. He needs to rid himself of this ghost immediately.

Positioning himself on the couch, he dips his fingers into the jar making sure to use the poultice sparingly in case he needs to perform these actions more than once. The mixture is both gooey and sticky and he rubs it on his skin while holding his breath. After closing the jar and placing it on the side table next to the closed note, he lays his head back and breathes through his mouth while waiting. His throat and temples feel warm and itchy at the same time. He waits for long moments, eyes closed and concentrated, not quite sure what to expect but knowing he will recognize it when it comes.

Nothing happens, and Erik is certain that exorcisms involve more action than silence. Lifting his head, he looks around to see if anything has started to glow or move on its own accord but nothing has changed. Mentally, he curses all those supernatural movies as he pushes himself off the couch. He is prepared to burn the rest of the incense and use the entirety of that jar when the room spins on his first step and his body simply gives way from beneath him.

Everything goes dark.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 01

A/N: Broken up because it felt awkward for the time shift. He blacks out. Happy Halloween. Notice the variation theme? Yeah. That’s happening to help you keep the Halloween spirit until you finish all your leftover candy. :) Also, one-a-days are going to be horrible if they keep getting longer than 1k words. D: (Shady editing, I apologize but it’s already Halloween and I had sort of planned to start next month’s variation week earlier than today so that it was more oriented to the Halloween season. My bad.)  
Fic Review: Whatever ghost is haunting Erik just totally succeeded in pissing him off. Also, the little nods to POTO always make me grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short ficlet variations on a theme: Halloween meet cute. Erik purchases a haunted loft. (More angsty than expected.)

o.o.o.o

“She said to wait until the evening bell.”

An unfamiliar voice tinged with clear disapproval draws Erik from a heavy darkness. He does not know how much time has passed but it is a struggle to even open his eyes and more so to turn onto his side in an effort to get up. The floor is unkind and his body is suffused with a heavy ache that pins him down. Movement, even the attempt at movement, pulls a groan from him.

“Shh,” the voice says again and this time it sounds closer. A hand clamps over his mouth, and Erik’s eyes open at that. The room spins for a moment but settles eventually. His heart races when he realizes someone is in his home.

A young blond with his hand firmly over his mouth and the other on his shoulder holding him in place is looking around the loft, overly alert and nervous. Erik tries to scramble away from him but is disoriented enough that the young man manages to keep him still.

Erik grabs his wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. “How did you get in here?”

The young man has the gall to slap his other hand over Erik’s mouth, muffling most of the question.

“Not so loud,” he hisses out and Erik quiets if only because he realizes his efforts at escaping are thwarted because the young man is actually straddling him, his body a firm weight against his abdomen. It is not ache so much as weight that keeps him down. The stranger is bent over him, elbows on either side of his head, and currently, trapping one of Erik’s hand.

This close, Erik knows the other man should be grimacing away from the atrocity that is his face, but blue eyes meet his own, searching for something Erik cannot comprehend – all that needs to be seen is the deformity on his face.

“You have to be quiet,” the young man repeats in an urgent whisper. “Please.”

It is the _please_ that makes Erik nod.

Slowly, the hand is removed from over his mouth, but the stranger does not move from his position. Their faces are uncomfortably close, even though Erik seems to be the only who cares.

“Get off of me,” Erik whispers harshly, though remains still, fearing what trying to buck off the younger man will do to him.

The man does nothing more than sit up, his weight suddenly pressing on Erik’s abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs in a harsh exhale. He is spared an apologetic look but then the other’s attention is drawn back to the room at large before leaning back down to shake his head.

“It’s not safe yet,” he says before proceeding to make himself more comfortable while half laying on him.

All Erik can think is that an insane person has somehow broken into his loft and is going to kill him at some point. Admittedly, the man looks more handsome than insane and now that Erik’s head is no longer spinning, he is almost certain that the lithe body on top of him would be no match against him. But the young man is still talking and Erik is more than a little distracted by his voice and the strands of blond hair that hang low enough to brush against his cheek.

“The incense has mostly burned. You’ve been out of it for a while already. Thankfully, I don’t think you used enough for it to reach beyond the apartment and I’ve been doing a pretty good job at keeping this place safe from everyone. They’ve caused enough havoc to want to take a break certainly, but I’ve helped as well. It is difficult though, tiring.”

And Erik is fully convinced that this young man must have escaped from an asylum and is halfway through planning ways to subdue him until the stranger’s expression seems to just shut down, eyes going distant and mouth drawn down into a deep frown. Fear and sadness draw his brows down to make a crease on his once smooth forehead.

He says with such conviction that Erik believes him, “This is a bad place.” Then, he is once again lost in some memory that for all the despair it must contain, Erik almost desperately wants to know. He wants to capture his expression, the emotion that even has _him_ suffocating against it. He flexes the hand trapped against the floorboards and the motion draws the man from his thoughts.

He gives a lopsided grin though his voice is still somber, “But I could not stand to be alone again in the darkness that shrouds the room in the absence of life. Sometimes, I’m not strong enough. I’m never strong enough. Not like… it is worse. It is so much worse when I am alone, and they do everything to drive people away.” And there is a plea in that sentence that the man swallows before he can think to elucidate.

Instead, he sits up abruptly enough that Erik’s breath is knocked out of him again. He looks around and contrary to every survival instinct Erik has, he is disappointed when the young man stands up, offering a hand to help him stand as well.

Erik takes a moment to actually look at him. The young man must be in his early twenties. He is lithe with dirty blond hair long enough to almost touch his shoulders. The black trousers and a button up white, dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows that he wears seem to be out of place in Erik’s home when he is wearing his most comfortable pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt.

The man must take his hesitation to be fear because he smiles encouragingly, “It is safe for now. As long as we’re quiet, we should be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The last statement is said with such vehemence that Erik is taken aback. Those words, that sentiment has never been directed at him and he can only stare for a long moment, forgetting that this is no sane person.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Oh,” the man reaches forward and takes one of his hands. “My name is Raoul. Of course. How rude of me.” He hauls Erik to his feet. “You are Erik. I am Raoul. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He steadies Erik from the sudden change of position before turning their entwined hands into a handshake.

Erik looks down to meet his eyes and he presses his lips together tightly before something stupid like _You have a beautiful smile_ manages to come out. Their faces are so close once more and Erik can feel the blood rushing to his face.

He has to forcibly remind himself that he is dealing with a young man who is mentally unstable. Then it dawns on him. “How do you know my name?”

When Raoul laughs, it is pleased and transforms his expression into something that looks like he has never been more carefree in the world than in that moment, and Erik almost cannot believe this is the same young man who had looked so haunted.

“How could I not?”

Erik freezes and takes a step back, ignoring the disappointment that crosses Raoul’s features when he does. _Haunted_. It comes crashing down on him: the poultice, incense, and Madame Giry. He wracks his brain trying to remember the exact words the wretched woman had said to him about performing the ceremony. Using the distinct smell of the poultice, he tries to slip back into the memory, clawing past the fog of his own wayward thoughts about the concoction in order to hear Madame Giry saying something about being firm when communicating with the spirits.

He takes another step back, glancing down to make sure he does not hit the end table, and it is then that he sees a hand on the floor. He gasps and follows the hand up the arm to the head, and he drops to his knees when he realizes that it is _his_ body lying prone on the floor.

“Erik?”

Erik reaches out slowly, and his hand falls right through the body, his body.

“She killed me,” he mutters to himself. “I’m dead.”

Raoul is immediately by his side, warm body suddenly pressed against his own so firmly that Erik almost falls over.

“No, no, no,” he assures quickly. “You aren’t dead.” He grabs Erik’s hand to make it stop trying to touch his physical self. “I thought you knew. I’m sorry, but she explained it.”

Erik’s head whips to face the ghost, although he realizes at the moment, he too is a ghost, a spirit, something. He will figure out exactly what later. “I would have remembered her mentioning something like this happening.” He refuses to admit that he probably would not have and instead glances down, but it is not towards his body. It is to his hand trapped between both of Raoul’s.

“It’s a trance. Usually people don’t try to stand up in the middle of the process,” Raoul says pointedly, “and when they’re amateurs, they follow directions and do it after the evening bell on Samhain.”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Erik says, the pieces finally falling into place.

“Very. When the veil is thin, it is harder to tell who is a spirit and who is not, which makes it safer for amateurs. Doing it earlier will make you stand out too much,” Raoul says with a nod, but he casts his eyes downward when he adds, “It would be safer in general for you if you simply moved out of this loft.”

Frowning, Erik says, “Because of those _other_ ghosts.”

The young man looks away, though his hands tighten on Erik’s. Eventually, he nods. “The other spirits will seek to do you harm because of me. It’s been small things for now, you’ve noticed, moving and hiding your stuff, but I have seen it escalate. I’ve tried, and I’ve done my best to…”

“Keep them at bay, you said,” Erik finishes when the young spirit hesitates. He wants to ask what happened that these other spirits would do him harm. He cannot help but feel surprisingly protective of the young man. He wants to erase the look of fear and resignation that is not only so clear in his expression but also in his very posture. Leaving may not have been a choice he had wanted to consider before this happened, but now, he is intent on not only staying but finding a way to rid himself of several unwanted spirits.

“How do I get back?”

He does not need to elucidate because Raoul tilts his head towards the incense that has already nearly burned to the bottom. “Soon.”

“And you’ll protect me?” he asks, wondering if the spirit will understand what he is implying.

Raoul does look up at him, his confusion plain to see. Erik should feel self-conscious about his face, should have felt the absence of his porcelain mask distinctly this entire conversation, but he has not. He has never met an individual he has felt comfortable with facing without his mask, but this is different. It is not as though the young spirit has not seen his deformity before.

Raoul considers his question seriously before nodding slowly. “Always.”

“Then why would I leave?” Erik replies flippantly, and Raoul looks like he cannot believe his words, does not want to trick himself into believing.

And, he wants to say something else, some reassurance but he is unused to such niceties and all that comes out is a gasp when it feels as though he is suddenly falling.

The last thing Erik sees before the darkness claims him again is Raoul’s smile before the young man tackles him into a hug.

He jerks awake, opens his eyes to see his room in a completely different angle. It is distinctly reminiscent of a waking from a falling dream, the disorientation and momentary vertigo. He is half-tempted to write off the conversation with a mysterious blond stranger as some poultice-induced dream, but his mask is lying beneath his hand and he can still feel the warmth of Raoul against his body.

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: See, more angsty than playful. Also, fail on this challenge. Things happened. (Life among them, and me being completely irresponsible when it comes to my belongings another.)   
Fic Review: Raoul doesn’t literally say the words asking Erik to stay because he _has_ asked others before (or at least has tried) and he is only disappointed again and again, people’s lives move on and sometimes he isn’t strong enough to keep the other spirits at bay. Sometimes he gets trapped, isolated and there is little he can do to save himself much less save the occupant of the loft. Why are those other spirits so mean to Raoul? I guess we’ll never find out… however, he does have an ally in Erik now. :D


End file.
